


Dancing Is "Heeling" To the Soul

by NeverTheNess



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amélie Guillard, Amélie lacroix - Freeform, Ballet, Ballet Dancer, Coping, F/M, Gen, Gérard Lacroix - Freeform, Healing, In between story, Master and Pupil, Overwatch - Freeform, Own Continuity, Past Relationship(s), Peace, Post-Talon Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Redemption, Remembering Memories - Freeform, Seeking Peace, Tekhartha Zenyatta - Freeform, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24147697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverTheNess/pseuds/NeverTheNess
Summary: Amélie struggles with a memory she long thought she forgot - about her past life, and her past lover, Gérard Lacroix. Under the guidance of Tekhartha Zenyatta, she begins to unravel that memory, and who she was before she became "the Widowmaker."
Relationships: Widowmaker | Amélie Guillard/Gerard Lacroix, Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix & Tekhartha Zenyatta
Kudos: 9





	Dancing Is "Heeling" To the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note, before you begin to read - this IS set in the middle of a previous Widowmaker and Overwatch story of mine, "With Redemption, Comes Peace," but this is a story also set on its own. You do NOT need to read "With Redemption" to understand this story. All you do need to know is Amélie is seeking the help of Zenyatta to basically become human again after being Widowmaker.
> 
> With all of that said, enjoy the story! :)

__

_Cpérq National De Paris_

__

_A Paris Ballet Dance Center_

__

_April 19th, 20--_

"More effort, Guillard! More flare!" 

The instructor’s words boomed in the unspoiled dance room. Amélie trained for this routine for so long now, and her first major dance recital is mere days away. Her heart quickened at hearing the instructions, as she positioned herself for the next phase of the dance. The ballet instructor stood there with a hand near her chin, as she peered intensely at the dancer. This was her only chance to prove to her that she had what it takes to become the next "big thing", or however the critics call it nowadays. 

The only sound heard was the audio of the Tchiakovsky’s “ _Swan Lake_ ,” which is what Amélie practiced for. Sunlight pierced into the room from an open window. The glare almost annoyed Amélie, but nothing could distract her, nor make her feel annoyed in this moment. It felt so euphoric to be able to dance for others, and the rays even radiated off of her skin, giving her warmth and life as she continued. 

A small smile crept upon her face, as her body soared through the air. She lingered for a moment, almost defying gravity before she stuck the landing. This is it, she thought to herself. She closed her eyes and positioned herself for one final display of her act. She put her arms out in front of her, and with all the strength in her legs, she kicked off the ground with immense force. Amélie spun and spun as the room whirled around her; she imagined, for a moment, that her dancing was so powerful, that the world spun around while she was in one place. 

It was hypnotic, and it was cathartic. Being able to perform and express herself without any form of speaking or heavy movement. It will always be a trait she exhibits, and one she agrees with: moving and performing silently, for an audience in front of her, or behind the scenes. She could have kept going, and going, and- 

"Alright, stop for a moment." 

The instructor’s words snapped Amélie back to reality, as she slowed her spins to catch her breath. She bowed down at the ballet instructor with her eyes closed, as light clicks of tall heels steadily approached her. Sweat ran quietly down from her neck to her chest, yet the question was of nervousness or from dancing. She guessed it was from both. Amélie leaned her head up, a small hopeful (or nervous? she couldn’t tell) smile present on her face. The instructor, however, had no such smile. 

"Techniques aside, your performance was underwhelming. You are supposed to be Odette, Ms. Guillard! Techniques are fine, but where’s your flare? Your style? You could become so much better.” 

Amélie’s smile shrank, as a heavy feeling of disappointment felt like it was being placed upon her back. Disappointment she had felt from the instructor, but also disappointment in herself. She trained so hard day-in and day-out, having the patience and endurance to put up with the most insensitive instructors and agents to land her the role. All of that planning and practice, and just days before the show, her latest instructor said her latest performance was underwhelming? 

Before she had the chance to share her thoughts, a man’s voice was heard from the doorway. 

" _Chérie_ , I thought that wasn't underwhelming in the slightest. In fact, that was probably the best performance I saw this year." 

Amelie straightened herself and turned her head towards the door. A young, remarkably handsome man was standing there, looking at her with interest and surprise. It was as if his smile around his short mustache was plastered on his face everywhere he went, but was so genuine at the same time. His hair was slicked to one side as he donned a stylish black and white tuxedo. A rose emblem was worn on his tux, clearly dressed for a special occasion, or for a day out in the town; with this being Paris, it wasn’t uncommon to see a variety of gentlemen to be dressed as such. 

But this man… Amélie couldn’t stop staring at him, almost gawking at him. Her heart went in more loop-de-loops than that of a rollercoaster ride. Part of her mind recollected his face from somewhere, but what was he doing here? 

"Pardon the interruption, mademoiselles,” he announced. He looked over in Amélie’s direction. “Madam,” the man asked, “are you Amélie Guillard? The one who's going to be portraying Odette tonight?” 

Amelie's face began to flush red at the mere mention of her name. This man clearly knew who she was, though the name Guillard could have given her away. With how much wealth her family passed to her, her name wasn’t too uncommon, right? The man walked forward to the two women, as his black dress shoes shined in the illuminated sun. He leaned in to kiss both of Amélie’s cheeks; a customary exchange, but Amélie’s face flared up at him just greeting her. 

_Get a grip_ , she boomed in her head. 

"Oh, of course, where are my manners,” the man said, straightening his tux just a bit more. “My name is Gerard, madam; Gerard Lacroix. I was just relaxing in Paris when I heard about a show starring you that will be performed tonight! I figured, ‘why not talk to the star of the show,’ hm?" 

Amélie’s knees grew weak, as her heart pounded inside her chest. There was something about this man, this charismatic gentilhomme, that Amélie couldn’t just ignore. All the while, Gerard continued to smile at the rising star, his eyes also transfixed onto her. The instructor peered over at the both of them, as she cleared her voice. 

“If you both don’t mind,” she interrupted, “I must attend somewhere else. We’re finished for today, Guillard, but do please continue to practice.” The instructor left without another word, but Amélie, nor Gerard, seemed to notice or care. 

Gerard pulled out a small pocket-watch from the insides of his coat jacket. Fourteen minutes past four, and still plenty of daylight out. His eyes fell back onto Amélie’s as he extended his hand. 

"Pardon me, chérie,” Gerard spoke at last. “I really must be going. I would offer to have a cup of tea with you, but I understand if you’re busy preparing for-” 

“Actually,” Amélie interjected, “I got plenty of time. It’s not for a couple of days.” She stopped for a moment, surprised at herself for making the bold leap. She chuckled to herself. “Plus, a cup of tea could refresh me on how to achieve my flare,” she sarcastically added. 

Gerard let out a hearty laugh, as with Amélie, too. After a moment, Gerard held out a hand to her. “A cup of tea it is,” he decided. “I know an exquisite place, just down the street. A small café, but some of the best tea and coffee served." 

Amélie’s smile couldn’t have been wider. She placed her hands in Gerard’s, and the two of them began to head out of the ballet center. Warmth enveloped every inch of her body, and a satisfying comfort lingered over her. 

"Thank you, Ms. Guillard,” Gerard said with a beaming smile. “The pleasure is all mine." 

"Please,” Amélie continued. “Call me Amélie, Gerard.”

__

A loud "THUD" was heard within the Nepal temple. Amélie had fallen onto her back, as she gasped and breathed heavily. Beads of sweat ran down her temple, as she stared at the nighttime sky through Nepal Temple’s ceiling. She sat up, as an unwelcoming feeling coursed through her body. Her heart sped up, and though she was in good physical condition, she felt unwell. 

_What happened?_ she thought to herself. 

"My student,” a kindhearted voice said. “It appears as though you have fallen.” 

Tekhartha Zenyatta stood on his own two feet, and extended a hand to her. To Amélie, barren of the metal body that he was composed of, for a moment, she almost saw a real human who extended his hand to her. “Take my hand, Amelie," his soothed voice asked. 

She hoisted herself up with his help. Each breath exerted was heavy, her body shaken as she held onto his hand. 

"Master, what has happened…?” 

Zenyatta tilted his head at her, his expression unchanged. “We were meditating, my student,” he answered. “You were doing very well, before I saw you fall onto your back. What has happened _for you_?” 

Amélie’s breathing slowed, as she looked down. She tried to pinpoint what had happened, or at the very least, what she just saw. She remembered that date, that place, that man… her husband. 

“I saw something,” she broke the silence between them. “I saw a memory. I saw _him_ , master. I saw Gerard.” 

She sat down again beside Zenyatta, as the Omnic listened to her description.“I felt relieved, to see him again, but I also wanted to reach out, to bring him back. It was a happy memory, but I felt no happiness from it. Only, I felt…” 

"Guilt, mayhaps?” Zenyatta questioned. 

Amélie nodded her head. Guilt had to be what she had felt; she felt no fear, she hadn’t in a long time, but a creeping sense of guilt loomed over her. She turned her head towards the metallic monk, as his other hand rested upon hers. His unblinking gaze stared intently at her. 

"Your meditation sessions are becoming increasingly better, Amélie,” he began. “Your mind is expanding more and more, allowing more of your memories to restore themselves." 

Amélie closed her eyes, as her grip tightened on Zenyatta’s hand. She continued to breathe deep; into her nose for five seconds, hold her breath for another five, and out of her mouth for five more seconds. Zenyatta was with her the entire time, as he occasionally let out remarks, such as “very good” and “easy, deeper breaths.” 

After about ten minutes, Amélie’s grip on his hand loosened. Zenyatta took his hand away, as he stood up, and offered her his hand again. Amélie took it, and pulled herself up once more. "I believe that is enough of meditation today, Amélie,” he mentioned. “Relax your mind tonight, we will continue more tomorrow." 

"Very well, master,” she nodded. “May you sleep well and peacefully.” 

“As with you, my pupil.” 

Zenyatta let go of her hand, as he made his departure to his quartners, on the east side of the temple. Amélie was left alone in the center of the temple. If this was any other night she would have gone either to bed, or withdrawn her coat from her closet and peer up at the millions of stars above. 

Tonight, however, was a bit different. Amélie waited until Zenyatta was out of sight, before she fished out an old music player that Zenyatta had in his possessions. She assumed he carried one for meditation purposes with his other pupils, but for tonight, it took on another purpose. She laid it down and began to play the very same version of Tchaikovsky’s “ _Swan Princess_ ” melody. Like clockwork, move after move was beginning to come back to her. Amélie positioned her legs, one in front of the other, and started her cue with first position. 

In the heart of the Nepal Temple, Amélie step-by-step recited “The Swan Princess,” and let her body take control as the music played on. Even after everything that had happened to her, she learned one thing about herself that will never be taken away: her gift to dance. 

That was something that made her truly feel alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, everyone! Thank you so so much for reading this little in-between story; I had fun re-editing it after posting it on Amino many years back. As always, please let me know, of course, what you all think of this story! Constructive criticism and feedback are always welcomed and accepted, and I'm excited to showcase more stories.
> 
> Right now, I'm thinking of branching off of Overwatch with a variation of an ending of a "Star Wars" movie, and remastering other old collections of stories that I posted on Amino as well. After that, however, I am planning on finally culminating a story I've had in my mind for YEARS, and while I can't say anything yet on the project, I think it will be one of my crowning achievements in my writing yet.
> 
> ANYWAYS, enough of all that. Please take care, and enjoy yourselves, everyone! Thanks again for reading my story! :D


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